


the greatest grief

by thelittlestbishop



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint needs hug, F/M, Gen, mention of Kate Bishop, small appearance by Pepper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:56:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlestbishop/pseuds/thelittlestbishop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Perhaps it is the greatest grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone." --Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles</p>
            </blockquote>





	the greatest grief

The sun is beating down on him from outside the open window, making his skin feel clammy under the covers but he doesn't move, not yet. He wants to push back the day a little bit longer, to savor the scarce few minutes he still has until he has to get ready. His hands reach out to the other side of the bed but it's empty. Of course it is. He holds onto the sheets a little tighter as he stares up at the ceiling and wishes the bed would swallow him whole.

When his alarm goes off, an ear-splitting sound that makes his head pound, he slowly gets out of bed and turns it off, his body feeling heavy and sluggish as he stands. He feels useless, then, standing in the middle of the room with an uneven scruff and stained jeans, surrounded by empty bottles and photographs and small trinkets scattered along the floor.

Clint runs his fingers through his greasy hair and shuffles to the kitchen, turning the coffee maker on and staring at it. He doesn't want to see the room that sits still around him. There are too many reminders and he doesn't want to deal with them yet. If he is honest with himself he knows he will never want to deal with them. He would rather move out than have to sift through everything.

The machine beeps and he drinks the scalding coffee straight out of the pot, barely minding the burn on his tongue. It wakes him up enough. He doesn't move from the stool he sits on until he finishes off the beverage, staring blankly at the countertop covered in old newspaper clippings. He drinks down to the last drop and when it's gone he stands and drops the pot in the sink, head hanging low as he tries to move his feet. One in front of the other, just like always.

He showers next, the water that starts as too cold quickly turning hot, filling up the room with steam. His skin is reddened when he steps out of the stall and he shaves at the sink, his eyes focused solely on the activity at hand, trained on the way the razor moved. He doesn't really want to find out how he looks like after the last couple of days.

How long has it been since she left him? Three days? A week? A month? It could not have been so long. Kate would have showed up, raising up a storm about how irresponsible he was.

Dropping the razor on the sink and washing away the shaving cream he steps away from the bathroom, dreading the next chore.

His fingers run through all his suits, kept pristine thanks to Nat and Kate, each in an individual bag. There aren't that many. Everyone knows he's not a big fan of fancy dress. Clint takes out the best one he owns, bought when Kate said the old ones were garbage. The pants go first and he congratulates himself for not falling on his face as he pulled them on. He puts on the shirt, then, working in the collar-stays and smoothing down the fabric as he tucks it in. And next he puts on the tie.

His hand shakes as he does this, fingers blunt and clumsy as they try again and again to tie a half decent knot, the frustration growing and rising up his chest until it is released as an angry noise that falls from lips as he kicks the bed in a fit of rage. He could almost picture Natasha walking through the door after hearing his anguish, smoothing down his collar and steadying his hands.

The apartment is still just as quiet as it was five minutes ago.

He lets the tie hang loosely around his neck as he puts on the belt and the jacket, the socks and then his shoes. It feels like he's suffocating, the fabric that encases him is too stiff for his liking and he feels bound against his will. It's fitting, he supposes, he doesn't want to go to the event and yet he's going against his will.

The archer is finally dressed and he puts some gel on his hair, just to play along with the whole show. In reality it doesn't do much to help his hair look presentable.

He locks up the apartment and walks down the stairs slowly, dragging each step as if he could make time stop that way. The wind greets him when he reaches the street, the cold biting into his face as he hails for a taxi. He didn't think to grab a coat, but it's too late now and he climbs into the car, rubbing his hands together as he mumbles the address. Tony could have sent a car for him, if he had asked, but as far as he knows his phone has a dead battery and is definitely lost in a heap of dirty laundry. He can always ask for a ride back home.

When the taxi pulls up to the curb Clint pays and steps out, spotting his friends and teammates —except Natasha— near the entrance. Pepper approaches him first and takes the tie from around his neck, raising a delicate eyebrow before tying it carefully. She must have plenty of practice after so many years with Tony, he barely feels her tie it up. He says nothing and she takes him back to the group, not letting go of his arm. Everyone knows how he feels about this.

Finally it's time to go inside and take their places.

The sun beats down on the dark wood of the casket sharply. His eyes sting as he stares at it, and he is certain the tears that have begun to build up on the rim of his eyes are not because of the bright light.

**Author's Note:**

> Any spelling and grammar mistakes are mine, if you find any please let me know


End file.
